


who can you call when the quiet's too loud?

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Coronavirus, Croatian National Football Team, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex, questionable mental states
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: Dejan can’t sleep.  He needs to move.He sleeps best on planes, on buses, anywhere with lots of people around, and it’s like since he doesn’t even fucking know when he gets to have that again, his body wants to do anything but sleep.But what’s he got now—stuck inside listening to the air?  Stuck with almost no one to talk to, to laugh with, to touch?  To hold?  To—He flops down on the couch and takes one last look at all the quiet outside and then makes a call.
Relationships: Dejan Lovren/Šime Vrsaljko
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	who can you call when the quiet's too loud?

Dejan can’t sleep. He needs to move.

He sleeps best on planes, on buses, anywhere with lots of people around, and it’s like since he doesn’t even fucking know when he gets to have that again, his body wants to do anything _but_ sleep. 

He slips out of bed in boxers and a t-shirt, grabs his phone and airpods, and walks downstairs.

His neighborhood has always been quiet at night, that’s one of the reasons why they live here, but as the lockdown drags on without any sign of stopping the nights have taken on a kind of stillness that feels uncomfortable. There’s probably a better word for it than that, what he’s feeling, but giving it a word would really make him feel like he’s losing his fucking mind.

But it’s just that because everything is so silent and nothing is moving because it’s so silent he feels like he can hear the _air_ (you shouldn’t be able to, right, you shouldn’t be able to hear the fucking air) and because everything’s so still he can feel the emptiness, so wide and big it could swallow a guy. And this isn’t what life should be like for him, for everyone, not when he’s still in his prime the way he is. He should be back home with the Vatreni, where everything feels right. He should be helping to bring Liverpool more glory, to make the fucking best of whatever’s left of the season. 

But what’s he got now—stuck inside listening to the _air?_ Stuck with almost no one to talk to, to laugh with, to touch? To hold? To—

He flops down on the couch and takes one last look at all the quiet outside and then makes a call.

“…Deki?” Šime sounds like he’d been asleep. He hears music in the background.

“Did I wake you up, brate?”

“Yeah. Little bit.” Šime yawns and for one moment it’s almost like they are sharing a bed in a hotel room somewhere, anywhere, with nothing separating their bodies and their minds and _them_ , not even air. For one moment, and then it ends. Maybe it’s better not to feel it at all than to just feel it for one moment. 

Another loss. Another emptiness. 

But, no. He shakes his head to snap out of it. Šime isn’t curled up on top of him, no, but he’s got him on the phone, so he might as well grow a pair and enjoy what he can.

“Guess I passed out playing Call of Duty, shit.”

Dejan catches himself rubbing his cheek against his phone. Talk about losing his fucking mind… “How out of shape are you exactly, brate? Wanna call and train with me tomorrow?”

“ ‘M good, thanks,” Šime says. “Anyway, you don’t want to _train_ with me. You want to stare at my ass.”

“Of course not, brate. I _care_ about you. Want you in good shape.”

“And you want to stare at my ass.”

“You’re an asshole,” Dejan complains, settling into the pillows on the couch. “Have you ever taken a look at what you’ve got going on back there, brate? It’s only natural for a guy to look.”

“Aww, thanks, ljubavi,” Šime says. “’So, are you doing okay today? Or...tonight? Whatever the fuck time it is.”

Dejan is always a fan of saying what’s on his mind, but with Šime no other option even exists. “No.”

“Mmmm.” The music in the background stops. “You know…you know it’s all gonna be over soon, right? Don’t listen to other people. Just trust me, okay?”

“Hmmmm. Are you an expert?”

“Well, no, but I don’t think you really give a shit about _experts_ at this point, right? I just get that feeling.”

Dejan nestles the phone against his cheek and listens to Šime’s slow breaths.

“Just…as long as we all do the right thing, what we’re supposed to and all that, it’ll be over. Okay, Deki? Y’know?”

“Mmm. Yeah.” Is Šime the one who has the answers for any of this? Dejan wishes. It’s nice to pretend. 

“I’m gonna go to sleep now, okay?” Šime says. Dejan thinks of how strange it is that people are just so fucking different. Sleep is the last thing on his mind. But Šime adapts so easily to everything. He’s flexible.

“Oh, yeah? Busy day of Call of Duty tomorrow?”

“Call of Duty, yelling your name while I jerk off, you know. The usual.”

“Send me pictures, okay?”

“Send you pictures? Have I _missed_ a day?”

“No, brate.” Dejan’s folder of _wildly_ private photos of Šime has grown a _lot_ this spring. That’s one good thing. “You have not. I’ll try to go to sleep now too, I guess.”

“Good, ljubavi. You need it.”

*

Suddenly Dejan realizes he hasn’t been sleeping. 

He’s been trying, sure. Trying the whole think happy thoughts thing. But suddenly it’s—he checks his phone—after 2 am and he’s lying there with his hand on his cock, squeezing himself through his boxers, imagining Šime riding his face like he’d done the last time they were together. God. He could lick into Šime’s ass like that for fucking... _hours_ if they had the time. He’s squeezing himself harder at the thought, and his cock jerks underneath his hand.

He slips his airpods in again and gives Šime another call. 

“Dejan…” Šime’s voice is so broken, so sleepy. “Brate...the fuck…it’s three in the morning.”

“Oh, really? It’s only 2 am here.”

“Fuck you, brate.” Šime clears his throat. “You’re gonna make me all worried about you and shit if you keep doing this.”

This isn’t the first time during the lockdown that he’s called Šime this late at night. Dejan is a bit of a stranger to shame, but he’s feeling that right now. What he’s _not_ a stranger to is guilt. He’s feeling _that_ right now, too.

“God, Šime, I—I miss you. I do, okay?”

“I fucking miss you too, Deki. It’s crazy. It’s not like we’re together a lot anyway, but it feels worse right now.”

“It’s cause I know I _can’t_ see you,” Dejan says. He’s still got his hand on his cock. Šime’s groggy voice isn’t helping anything. “Hey, brate. Since we’re awake, you wanna…?”

Šime snorts. “Try that again without _asking_.”

“Sorry, brate. Quarantine got my brain.” His cock is harder in his hand, now. Šime _really_ doesn’t like being asked, and it makes him feel— “I’m going to give you five seconds to take off whatever you’re wearing. Five...four…” He hears some frantic rustling in Madrid. “Three...two…” 

“Done, brate.” Šime sends him a photo of his cock, starting to swell a bit against his naked legs. Dejan licks his lips. Šime has his left hand wrapped around it, the hand with the flames curling up his fingers and the barbed wire around his wrist. It’s a fucking _sight._ Šime’s right-handed and used to jerk off that way, but since getting the new tattoos Dejan prefers him to use his left when they’re together like this. Šime adapts so easily to everything. He’s flexible.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, ljubavi. Beautiful.” Dejan hears him rustling around on the other end.

“Okay, give me a second—” Sime’s requesting to video chat. Dejan declines the request. Usually when they do this they use video, but there’s something tonight about...sounds. He wants to just hear Šime without any distractions. He tells him that.

“Kinky. I’m into it.”

Dejan rolls his eyes. “You are so weird. Hey, do you have any lotion or something?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Use some, I want to be able to hear your hand moving.”

“Uh, okay.” A few seconds pass, and then Dejan hears it—the familiar sticky sound of lotion as Šime moves his fist. Dejan takes his shirt off, just in case, and reaches under his boxers at last. He moans louder than he should in his own house as his warm hand meets the warmth of his cock.

“You just touched yourself, huh?” Šime asks.

“That’s right.” Dejan props his leg up on the back of the couch. Something about having his legs spread out like this feels right. “Hey, Šime. What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing," Šime pants. Dejan can hear that he’s found a good rhythm, both from the sound of his fist and the sound of his breath. “What do I need to think about anything for...I’m talking to you.”

It’s a good point, one that makes Dejan’s chest feel warm. When they do this together over the phone they don’t need to talk much. They’re _together_. 

“Šime, ljubavi, when I see you next…”

“What, brate?”

“I’m going to...I’m going to…” Dejan harshly shoves his boxers down farther so his cock can spring out into the cool air. He interrupts himself. “Fuck. Where is my Šime? Where is his mouth?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Šime moans. “I’m all the way in Madrid, it’s—it’s bullshit.”

“Where are his pretty lips? Why can’t I pull his hair?”

“Deki, I’m—I’m right here, Deki. I’m right here.”

He can feel it for a moment—the way Šime’s mouth is so hungry for him, the way it takes him all in, the way he still finds a way to be gentle. The way his teeth never scrape him, the way his tongue swirls over him, the way his eyes stare so deep, so wide—

“Please, Deki,” Šime cries, suddenly, “please let’s video chat, I want to see you. I _need_ to see you, Deki—”

“Okay, okay—” Dejan lets go of his cock for a second and scrambles for his phone. His hand’s a little sticky from precum, but his phone will deal. From the look on Šime’s face Dejan can tell he’s close. His mouth is hanging open; he’s staring at Dejan like no one else has ever existed.

“Fuck—thank you—you look amazing, ljubavi—”

“So do you,” Dejan pants. “You have no idea how you—if I could I’d _pound_ you, brate. You wouldn’t be able to walk for _weeks_.”

“ _Please_ ,” Šime says. His hand sounds like it’s losing its rhythm. So is Dejan’s. He hasn’t felt this good, this free, in days, not since their last time. “Deki, I’m—I’m—I’m already—”

Dejan listens to Šime stop talking. And he watches Šime’s eyes widen and narrow and squeeze closed, their long lashes fluttering a little, and he says _Deki_ and bites his lip and grunts and he must be coming all over his stomach right now. Dejan can imagine it. He’s seen it so many times before—and he moans his name right back—it’s an ugly sound, a desperate sound, _Šime, Šime_ …and then his whole chest is warm and wet. Somehow he’s dropped his phone. He’s usually great at keeping it in place for Šime to see everything—an expert by necessity— but tonight he’s too weak to even pick it up off the couch. He rests his head next to his phone, glowing too bright in the dark living room, and listens to Šime panting. 

It’s not too quiet anymore. He can’t hear anything but Šime.

“Deki, Deki…where are you…” Šime sings softly from his phone. “I have something to show you…”

He’s all relaxed and tingly but manages to grab his phone. Šime smiles at him. His smile is so warm. His hair is a mess, and his eyes look just so tired. 

_He puts so much work into jerking off for me_ , Dejan thinks. _He works so hard at everything he does. Croatia’s finest._

“Your face is a work of art, brate, but is there anything else?”

Šime rolls his eyes but moves the camera to show off the gleaming wet stripes all over his stomach.

“Very nice, ljubavi.” Dejan thinks that if he was a little younger he’d get it up all over again at the sight. “See, you know my priorities.”

“Mmmm.” Šime switches the camera back to his smile. “You say that, brate, but I _know_ your priority is my face.”

And Dejan feels the smile spread across his own face and he knows it’s as wide as Šime’s. Nothing else could possibly matter. Just them, their smiles floating through the still air between Liverpool and Madrid. They’ve cut back on air traffic these days because of the coronavirus, right? The airspace is all theirs. 

He reaches for his shirt and wipes his stomach off with it.

“I’m gonna end the video call, alright, brate? Put you back on just audio.”

“Why?” Šime yawns and rubs his sleepy eyes. Dejan imagines, for a second, smashing the screen and reaching into his phone so he can pull Šime onto his chest and wrap his arm around the art on his back and his warm skin and fall asleep properly.

“I want you to stay awake till I fall asleep.”

“Awww, Deki, that’s so sweet, but…I’m fucking _tired_ , brate. What if I can’t?”

“Can you—can you try? So you can hang up once I pass out.”

“Seriously, Deki.” Dejan recognizes this voice, how it goes all quiet just before he falls asleep. “…'m fucking _tired_."

“You can do it for me, Šime. I _know_ you can do it for me. Jerk yourself off again or something to stay awake, I just want to…” 

“Oh yeah, that’s _great_ advice.” Only Šime can be so sarcastic when so close to sleep, because only Šime is perfect like that. “If you want me to try to do it again you can just _tell_ me to.”

“ _Shhh_ , ljubavi, Deki is talking.” Dejan adjusts the pillow under his head and curls up on his side. He thinks about sticking another pillow between his legs so it’s like the way Šime likes to tangle their legs together while he sleeps, but he wouldn’t want someone finding him like that in the morning, so he’ll have to manage. “I just want to fall asleep hearing you breathe. So it’s kind of like…”

“Okay. I get it, Deki. I’ll try.”

Dejan closes his eyes and he’s already mostly-asleep. He can hear Šime’s sheets rustling and imagines him getting comfortable in his place in Madrid that Dejan’s never been to.

“Hey, Deki?”

“Mmmm.”

“It’s going to be okay, alright? I’m okay…you’re okay…It doesn’t _feel_ okay, but like…it _will_ be.”

“Mmmm?”

“Just hang in there. No one’s…” Šime yawns again. “No one _hangs in there_ like you do…y’know?”

If Šime’s saying it, maybe he can believe it. Right now, with Šime’s breathing so loud in his ear that it drowns out the quiet, it’s good enough for him.

“Oh, you’re totally falling asleep,” Šime whispers. “G’night, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Was this my version of a fix-it fic? Maybe ~
> 
> Follow me on [insta](http://instagram.com/griziwave) or [tumblr!](http://theboywiththedejantattoo.tumblr.com)


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